


Lovingly, Betsy

by romanholidayinn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War, Betsy Ross - Freeform, Captain America - Freeform, Captain America: Civil War, Captain America: The First Avenger, Golden Girl - Freeform, Marvel - Freeform, Marvel Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Nomad Steve Rogers, Original Characters - Freeform, mcu - Freeform, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanholidayinn/pseuds/romanholidayinn
Summary: When Krys, Amber, and Dorian discover a box full of unsent letters in their great-grandmother's bedroom, they make it their mission to find the legendary man behind them-- by any means necessary.Betsy Ross was a showgirl for the Star Spangled Singers, who didn't plan on taking a big blond oaf in a tight suit under her wing. After he goes missing in 1945, she devotes to writing him a letter every year. She never imagined that one day he might finally read them.A fanfiction inspired by a fan theory of @flora_chaos on TikTok.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Betsy Ross, Unrequited - Relationship
Kudos: 2





	Lovingly, Betsy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Captain America Headcanon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/713999) by flora_chaos. 



> Hoo boy I did not think I'd get the first chapter uploaded before Thanksgiving. School is murdering me right now. Being a junior in college does that to a girl. I've got a month of torture to look forward to, and then I think I can devote my winter break to this Definitely-Didn't-Plan-to-Be-Multi-Chapter-And-Fully-Developed fanfiction.
> 
> Anyway, Flora, here's that fanfic you wanted. And all the other people in the comment section. I hope you enjoy! The first chapter is a lot shorter than what I think we'll get into later on. The chapters I write before December 15 will all be short on account of school.
> 
> Enjoy!

.....

August 2, 1945

Dear Steve,

I am writing this letter to you because you're gone. I don't know where; no one does. Or at least that's what they've decided to tell us. They said you were a hero, which comes as no surprise to me. You always were quite the champion with the girls. Remember the time you found all fifteen of our missing hair pins five minutes before curtain? But that sounds like child's play now compared to what you've done on the Front. Anyway, it's the past. I hope we'll be together again in the future. I know you can't be dead. You were always too proud to give up; too determined. So, I've decided to write you letters. One for each year you've been gone. I pray this will be the only one. Perhaps one day you'll read them in front of me and we'll have a good laugh like we used to. We'll drink your favorite bourbon and have an awfully grand time with the rest of the girls. We'll pick up the tab for you. Then maybe we'll all go for a show at the pictures. Until then, Captain America.

Lovingly,  
Betsy

.....

Krys flicked on the lights of the dim bedroom in her great-grandmother’s apartment. The air was stale and thick with untouched surfaces and years of dust. Ever since Grandma Betsy got sick, no one was allowed to come over who might have worsened her condition- that left the housekeeper’s job unfulfilled. So, when Krys and Amber stepped into the space, their feet immediately kicked up dust hiding in the browned carpet. It was almost comical if the circumstances had permitted even the slightest chuckle.

“Okay,” Krys put her hands on her hips and surveyed the cluttered room. “Amber, you get started on the boxes. I’ll get the clothes from the closet.”

Amber stifled a cough. “Shouldn’t we clean the dust first?”

“No time. We need to have this place cleaned out before Wednesday. That doesn’t give us any time to spruce the place up.”

“Fine…”

Amber passed by the large, garishly ruffled bed and began searching through the rumpled cardboard boxes that Grandma Betsy had in the corner of her room for years. Maybe she expected her family eventually moving all of her stuff out one day. She always was prepared more than she needed to be. Much like Krys bringing her own boxes to complete the daunting task of the closet. Grandma Betsy had kept every single one of her clothes since she got divorced back in 1957. Luckily, the Space Bag had been invented between then and now, so at least the mess was organized. Krys started pulling out the bags and putting them in the empty boxes they both brought in. All of the old clothes looked like they had become the same color, but maybe that was just the dim yellow lighting of her Brooklyn home. 

“So why do you think Grandma Betsy kept so much?” Amber asked, fiddling with a pink cord phone she pulled from the top box.

Krys looked back at her and scoffed. “You’re playing?”

Amber pouted. “I’m bored.”

“We just started!”

Amber sighed and put the phone back, folding the box flaps back up. She lifted the small box in her arms and carried it out to the living room in order for her dad or uncle to pick it up and take it out to the moving truck. When she came back in, Krys had already filled three boxes with storage bags. There was one dress on top that looked like a dancer’s uniform: rich velvet green and a short pleated skirt.

“Hey!” Amber grabbed the bag and showed it to Krys. “Remember the stories Grandma Betsy told us about her life as a showgirl?”

Krys’ eyes lit up. “Woah. Is that one of them? I didn’t even realize.”

“Being a showgirl never seemed like something she would do,” Amber commented as she tossed the bag back in unceremoniously. “She always seemed kinda sad.”

Krys sighed as she tossed another bag into the nearest giant box. “Yeah. Though she always lit up when she told us stories.” Krys suddenly chuckled. “Remember that one guy she told us about who always forgot his lines?”

Amber laughed. It sounded so flat in the stuffed room; the echo had nothing to bounce off of. “Yeah, I think he was her favorite story.”

With nothing left to really say, the sisters got back to their jobs. Amber toted off the rest of her boxes, leaving trails in the dusty off-white carpet while Krys finished up boxing all the clothes that were in storage bags: fourteen big bags in total. With nothing to do, Amber scanned the room for something to take to the living room. There was the bed in the middle of the room with all its covers and pillows, her white wooden dresser, a green chaise lounge, and...a large wooden chest in the corner hidden under a pile of blankets. Amber made a beeline for it--maneuvering some boxes and foldable chairs--and shoved all the blankets off. The top of the chest lid had a star burned into it, just a plain old star with the letters S.S.S. in the middle. What did that mean?

Amber opened the chest and was immediately overwhelmed with the smell of mothballs and dresses that were last worn before Nixon was president. All of them were folded neatly, each a different color and fabric. There were also some tops, pants, shoeboxes, and accessories that looked ready to be worn if you knew you’d be getting dirty. In fact, some of the clothes had decades of mud stains on them. Amber took them out carefully and tossed them onto the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Krysanthe,” Amber called in a sing-song voice, “I have more clothes for you!”

Krys groaned. “Come on, Granny Betsy.”

The older sister got up off the floor and came over to where Amber was continuing to toss clothes on the bed. Krys snatched them up and came over to the chest, slapping her sister on the head for creating a mess. 

“What,” Krys hesitated. “Why does she have so many?”

Amber shrugged. “Sentimental value?”

Krys began helping her sister take out the rest of the clothes. Blue velvet, red silk, khaki cargo, white linen, green cotton. So many different kinds. Krys’ hands were practically overflowing when Amber reached in to get the last--

“Wait!” Krys nearly dropped them all.

“What?”

Krys set all of the clothes in her hands back onto the bed. When she came back over, she saw clearly what the last dress was. It was kept in its own plastic storage bag, but this one had a piece of cardboard stuck with it to make sure it never got wrinkles. The skirt was short, pleated, and made with red and white stripes. The bodice was a bright satin blue with three stars on each lapel. It was...really cute, for something almost 100 years old. It was really familiar, too. Amber suddenly ran off into the living room, crashing into her cousin Dorian as she made it past the couch.

“Ow, dude!” Dorian whined. “Watch it.”

“Where’s the photo?” Amber asked him.

Dorian looked at all of the boxes in different parts of the room. There were boxes on the horrid green corduroy couch, boxes all over the floor with a hastily-formed path through them, boxes on the coffee table, and even some on the mantle. He looked back at Amber with a very unamused face.

“You’re gonna have to be specific.”

“The showgirl one, dummy,” Amber shoved past him and started rifling through a box. “The one with all the girls wearing American flag dresses. She showed it to us all the time.”

Dorian walked over to a box on Grandma Betsy’s special armchair and pulled out the photo with minimal effort. It was a black and white photo within a gold filigree frame. The top of the frame had a golden eagle like every military frame ever. Grandma Betsy said the girls all got the frame as a joke; they were their own branch. Amber took the photo out of Dorian’s hands and looked at it closer. There were twenty girls squished together, with Betsy closer to the middle. They were all grinning wide and wearing the same dress that was now at the bottom of a wooden chest in the other room. It was almost surreal seeing her great-grandmother like this; she was happy, young, and not confined to her bed. Amber wondered at that moment who took the photo. Maybe it was an audience member, their manager, a boyfriend…

“Come and see,” Amber told Dorian, grabbing his hand and leading him into the bedroom where Krys was still standing over the chest.

The three kids all looked into the chest to see the dress right at the very bottom. They were almost afraid to touch it. Dorian caved and reached his hand down into the chest, the plastic crinkling under his grip as he slowly lifted it up. The three kids marveled at the satin gleaming in the yellow lighting, like it was made for the spotlight. It had been kept in the bottom of a dark chest for too long. They were so busy gawking at the fabled dress that they almost missed the silver box that had lived beneath the dress, but Krys had seen it.

“Guys,” Krys bent down, her whole torso disappearing into the large chest and coming back out with her prize. “What’s this?”

The large silver box was mostly shiny with constant use, but contained dark tarnish in the crevices of its floral pattern from years of existence. Metallic roses were built into the design on the lid, and vines snaked all over its surface. Tulips and peonies and snowdrops all lined up in rows along the four sides of the antique jewelry box, but the arrangement’s details had smoothed away from Grandma Betsy’s constant handling. One design that had stood out as mostly untouched from human hands was the gold lock right underneath the lid, with little leaves trailing the curvature of the keyhole. It was too fancy to keep hidden at the bottom of a dress chest. When Krys tried to open it, the lid remained impossibly firm.

“It’s locked,” Dorian said.

Amber’s eyes lit up. “So where’s the key?”


End file.
